Almost Perfect - Brian Katcher [66]
“Sage, don’t.” I did not want to see her body again. I did not want to see her smooth belly or her freckled shoulders or her round, perfect chest. I knew I’d never be able to forget what I’d seen.
Her hand didn’t stop. The knot fell apart. Her robe began to open. Slowly. I had plenty of time to leave if I wanted. Why was she tormenting me like this?
Her robe collapsed onto the bed. And there she stood, in nothing but shorts. Every detail of Sage’s damp body was revealed.
This was the first time I’d ever seen an actual pair, in real life. Brenda, who was not as well endowed, never let me this close.
I should leave. I should say something. I should close my eyes. I shouldn’t just stand here. I really shouldn’t be walking toward her.
Sage stood silently, her hands held nervously at her side. What was she thinking?
Do you still doubt I’m a woman, Logan?
Do you like what you see?
Would you like to do more?
I was close enough now to see individual freckles. Close enough to smell Sage’s shampoo, to feel the moisture radiating from her skin.
My hands raised and gently touched her hips. She was right, her skin was soft. Her body quaked. Our eyes locked. Sage was smiling a terrified smile. There I stood, holding a topless woman. I could feel her stomach expand with each breath.
She took my right hand in both of hers. Her fingers wrapped around my wrist. Gently, she guided me upward. Sage wanted to be touched. She wanted me to touch her. Hip, belly, ribs …
Just before my fingertips made contact, I broke away. No explanation. I was out the door and on my bike within seconds. I didn’t stop moving until I had locked myself in the bathroom at home.
Sage … oh, oh, Sage.
Picturing Sage standing topless and damp in her room, I unzipped my pants.
chapter twenty-three
OUR BATHROOM WAS only slightly larger than an outhouse. This had been especially rough when Laura lived at home and all three of us had to share.
I lay on the moldy bath mat, crammed between the toilet and the shower. I’d been there for a couple of hours, just sprawled out, staring at the dead bulb above the mirror. The phone rang a couple of times, but I didn’t answer.
Well, I’d blown it. Totally, absolutely blown it. Months of trying to convince myself that Sage was my buddy, that I didn’t have the tiniest speck of a sliver of a fraction of an interest in her … and now this. I had touched her soft, soft—dear God, it was so soft—skin. And if that wasn’t enough, I’d pleasured myself just thinking about her. It was a little late to be pretending my feelings for Sage were pure brotherly concern.
The worst part wasn’t what I’d just done. It was what I’d almost done. Rushing out of Sage’s house took a lot of willpower. What if she’d grabbed my arm? Or kissed me? What if she’d said, Logan, please don’t go? That might have been enough. My defenses would have crumbled, all thoughts of the future vanished. Just me, Sage, and that body lotion I’d gotten her for Christmas.
And what then? After the smoke cleared, I couldn’t just pretend that Sage didn’t have a cock and balls … could I? Of course not. It disgusted me too much. And if her family ever found out, we’d both be sunk. Her father seemed like the sort of vengeful son of a bitch who’d tell my mom everything, out of pure spite.
I huddled in the bathroom corner, wrapping the filthy bath mat around my shoulders like a cape. I wondered what Sage was doing. Maybe primping in front of her mirror, smirking about how she’d almost landed me and planning her next move. More likely, she was hiding in her room, as confused and scared as I was.
I needed to talk to her, tell her my fears, beg her never to put me in a position like that again. I just didn’t have the self-control. But not now. Things were too fresh.
“Logan, honey, are you here?” Mom’s voice rang through the trailer.
“Just a second.” I stood and checked myself in the mirror. I looked like someone you’d see urinating in an alley while talking to himself. I removed my cape, washed my face, and zipped my pants.